


MAKE A RUIN OF ME

by rosegoldwriting



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Archaeology, M/M, Making Out, Non-Sexual Bondage, Rivals to Rivals With Kissing, Treasure Hunting, adventure movie cliches hold the imperialism, background kurosuna, well its a little sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldwriting/pseuds/rosegoldwriting
Summary: Keiji can look at a room that hasn’t been inhabited in centuries and tell you exactly how many people lived there, their social status, their occupations, what they ate for breakfast, and a million more trivial details about their ancient lives, but he can’t seem to wrap his mind around Miya Osamu, with his broad shoulders and insufferable ability to get inside his head.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 30
Kudos: 310





	MAKE A RUIN OF ME

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has mentions of alcoholic drinks, but they don't actually drink any of it. there's some sexy but not really sexual bondage at the end, but there's no sex in this fic. sorry but also not hehehe 
> 
> this fic has background kurosuna and one (1) mention of sakuatsu!! 
> 
> this is super short and self-indulgent but its kicking me out of writers block and it was fun to write so hell yeaahh
> 
> oh and happy birthday kit :)

“It’s hot as fuck,” was the first thing Kuroo said when they stepped into the inn. “It’s the middle of the night, and it’s still hot as fuck.” 

“Are you going to complain this much the entire time?” Keiji had asked, but now, after hours spent going over translations and journals and faded map ink, he knows Kuroo is right. They’d come straight from the university that morning, spent all day on a cramped charter plane, and now they’re here: a bar on the first floor of an inn in the middle of nowhere. It’s the middle of the night, and it is hot as fuck.

But if there’s one thing Keiji has learned in his ten years in archaeology, it’s that the closer you are to what you want, the warmer it is. 

It reminds him of a game he would play with his mother when he was much younger, and dreams of ancient ruins and treasure maps were exactly that: _dreams._ She would hide something in his room and guide him towards it, calling out “colder” as he strayed away from his treasure and “warmer” the closer he got.

And right now, he feels warm as hell.

Not only is it warm, it’s unbearably humid, and the heavy air inside the inn offers no relief. Keiji feels his glasses slipping down the bridge of his sweat-slicked nose as he swishes around a glass of warm whiskey.

(“On the rocks,” he had said. 

The bartender just scoffed.)

“The heat’s only going to get worse,” Keiji says. “But it’s worth it.”

“Right you are.” Kuroo clinks his own glass against Keiji’s with a sigh. “We’re going to find Inarizaki, can you believe it?”

He hardly can.

Inarizaki. A lost civilization, on par with Atlantis, considered nothing but a legend, a story to tell your children. 

At least that was the case until this day last week, when Sakusa Kiyoomi of Itachiyama Academy struck literal and metaphorical gold in the archives of famed archaeologist, Kita Shinsuke. A map to Inarizaki. 

The same map that’s currently unfurled on a worn table in a bar on the first floor of an inn in the middle of nowhere, where it is the middle of the night and still hot as fuck.

“This part of the jungle is well-traveled, so I think we ought to stick along this path until absolutely necessary,” Kuroo says, sliding worn fingers along the brittle lines of the map. Distantly, Keiji hears the sound of heavy boots meeting the creaking wood of the floor. “And…” Kuroo trails off, eyes focusing somewhere behind Keiji. 

“And?” Keiji prompts. 

“And you’ll never guess who just walked in,” Kuroo says with an unfolding grin. He slides the map off the table and tucks it into his bag. 

“ _Shit,"_ Keiji hisses. Kuroo only grins like that for one reason. Two reasons, Keiji supposes, if they’re being technical. “We were so careful. How could they have found us?”

Kuroo shrugs. “It was only a matter of time,” he says. He points a thumb towards the bar, where a pretty dark-haired man is drying shot glasses and looking entirely bored with the world. “I’m gonna go chat up lazy-eyes over there. You three have fun.”

“Kuroo-” Keiji starts, but his objection is left ignored in favor of iceless whiskey and a pretty bartender. 

_Maybe they won’t recognize him, maybe they’re here for some totally unrelated business that has nothing to do with them-_

Kuroo turns around and gives him a sympathetic shrug as two identical bodies drop into the chairs next to him. 

“Hiya, professor,” greets Miya Atsumu. “Fancy seein’ you here.”

The Miya twins. 

A duo of no-good, treasure-hunting criminals and the bane of Akaashi Keiji’s archeological existence. 

Atsumu, the blond, the one with the confident grin who can talk his way out of (or into) anything. There’s a long list of people who’d like to see him locked up, or worse. On the top of the list: the aforementioned Sakusa Kiyoomi, who’s had an off-and-on fling with the guy for years. Currently off.

And then there’s Osamu. 

Keiji can look at a room that hasn’t been inhabited in centuries and tell you exactly how many people lived there, their social status, their occupations, what they ate for breakfast, and a million more trivial details about their ancient lives, but he can’t seem to wrap his mind around Miya Osamu, with his broad shoulders and insufferable ability to get inside his head. 

And now the Miya twins, for whatever godforsaken reason, have sauntered into this inn, which means this expedition is about to get a hell of a lot more complicated. 

“Sooo,” Atsumu drawls, running his knuckles along the tabletop, “what’s a pretty face like yours doin’ all the way out here?

Keiji grits his teeth. “I’d imagine the same thing as you two.” 

“ _Keiji,_ ” Osamu says. He drawls his name the way he always does, like it's something hallowed. Like a prayer. Or maybe like a curse, with the way his voice makes the ends of Keiji’s fingers numb. “Seems like fate, doesn’t it?”

“Hardly,” Keiji scoffs. If there’s one thing he knows for sure, the Miya twins are never a coincidence. “How did you know we would be here?”

Atumu grins slowly and nods towards the bar. “Your friend seems to be havin’ a fun time with Sunarin over there.” Kuroo’s completely leant over the bar top, batting his eyelashes at this _Sunarin,_ who’s watching him with hooded eyes, fingers twisted in the sleeve of Kuroo’s shirt. “You should be careful who you trust around here.”

“Sunarin…” Keiji repeats, and the realization has him digging his fingernails into the worn wood of the table. “He’s one of yours, isn’t he? He told you we’d be here.”

“Like I said,” Atsumu shrugs, “be careful who you trust.”

“And you think I should trust you?”

“Not one bit,” Osamu says. “But if you wanna find Inarizaki, what choice do you have?” 

Keiji bristles at the words, but he isn’t sure if it’s at the implication that there’s no chance he’ll find the city before the twins, or the fact that he knows it’s true. “You’ll have a hard time finding the city without our map.”

“And you and your friend won’t make it five feet into that jungle, sweetheart,” Osamu says, leaning back in his chair. Keiji resists the urge to kick it out from under him. 

“Sounds like we can help each other out,” Atsumu adds, attaching the thought so effortlessly to Osamu’s in the way only twins can. 

Keiji scoffs. “The last thing I want to do is work together with you thieves.”

“Thieves?” Atsumu gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “He called us thieves, ‘Samu.”

“What better way to stop us from takin’ anything than to take us with ya?” Osamu says, elbowing his brother in the gut. “We can be your guides.”

“No chance in hell,” Keiji says and stands up from the table.

He grabs his bag, nods at them politely, and makes a beeline to the bar. He feels the eyes of the sly bartender following him as he hooks a hand around Kuroo’s arm. “Can I borrow him for a moment?"

“All yours,” drawls _Sunarin,_ drumming his fingers along the bartop. 

Kuroo shoots him a wink as Keiji pulls him away. The bored pretty bartender gives him a bored pretty smile. “Cute, isn’t he?” Kuroo asks.

“He sold us out to the twins,” Keiji says brusquely. 

Kuroo frowns. “Dammit.”

“I hate them,” Keiji continues, hand tightening on Kuroo’s sleeve. “Those fucking deluded grave-robbers.” 

“At least they’re not Americans,” Kuroo says. 

“I don’t care where they’re from,” Keiji says. “They take things that don’t belong to them, and they’re brutish and rude and dirty-”

“And devastatingly handsome?”

“ _What_? No.”

“C’mon, Keiji! I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you and the dark-haired one look at each other. Tension.”

“Stop-”

“Of the sexual kind.” 

“ _Stop."_

“They’re waiting for an answer, Keiji,” Kuroo sighs. “You know they’ll beat us there if we don’t just take them with us.”

“But they don’t have the map.”

“Did they need the map last time?”

No, they did not need the map last time. Keiji starkly remembers the fury of the board of anthropology when they returned home with nothing but a teasing letter addressed to Keiji and the hidden treasure of Nekomata, gone. 

_Better luck next time, sweetheart._ _Love as always, Osamu_

“Here,” Kuroo says, breaking him from his thoughts as he wraps Keiji’s hand around a small key. “The key to room 102. Now if you’ll excuse me, I was kind of in the middle of something.”

Keiji squints. “Did you miss the part where I said he tipped us off to the twins.”

“It’s alright, Keiji. It’s just a little bit of fun.” Kuroo gives his hand a squeeze before he heads back to the bar, calling over his shoulder, “You should try it sometime!” 

He hates that his first instinct is to look back at the table for Osamu. But Osamu isn’t there. It’s just Miya Atsumu, watching him with that stupid grin. Keiji tightens his grip on the key, feels its sharp teeth against his skin, and storms back to the table. 

“We’re leaving at 6 am,” he snaps. “Sharp.”

“10-4, professor,” Atsumu says with a sarcastic salute. “Tell ‘Samu goodnight for me.”

Keiji flicks him off and leaves. 

* * *

He hears a slow jazz song crack to life downstairs. It croons through the floorboards as Keiji shoves the door to room 102 shut. 

“Suna’s put on the Billie Holiday record,” a voice says. It doesn’t even startle him. “He must really like your friend.”

It’s him, as always. He’s leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of him, and it stretches the fabric of his sleeves ever so slightly. He’s ruinously handsome, as always. 

“Hi, Keiji,” murmurs Miya Osamu, a quiet greeting just for him, as always. “You wanna dance?”

“Don’t bother this time, Miya.” Keiji makes his way to the desk pushed up against the wall and drops his bag on its surface. It’s a nice room for an inn in the middle of nowhere. Small bed, desk with a chair, tasteful decorations. “I know exactly what you’re planning.”

“Oh?” Osamu hums. “And what’s that?”

“You’re trying to catch me off guard so you can take the map. We’ve been down this road before.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think, sweetheart,” Osamu says. 

Keiji leans back against the desk, fixes Osamu with a look. “I know you a lot better than most.”

Osamu’s lips stretch into a smirk, lazy and confident, like he knows something Keiji doesn’t. He probably does. “You do?”

“I know you think I’m stupid, but I do have a doctorate. Whatever you’re here for, it’s not going to work.” _This time,_ Keiji’s mind adds, rather irritably. 

Osamu laughs and pushes himself off the wall. “Okay, so you don’t wanna dance.” He crowds Keiji against the desk in a way he would hate if he didn’t like it so much. He slips Keji’s glasses from his face, tucks them into the front pocket of his pants and murmurs, “Wanna do somethin’ else then?” 

He shouldn’t take the bait, he _knows_ he shouldn’t, but Kuroo’s off somewhere swapping spit to the tune of Billie Holiday, and Osamu’s standing over him with his stupidly broad shoulders and stupidly confident smile. He’s got the Holy Grail in front of him, and Keiji’s only human. 

He tugs him down by the hair and takes a drink. 

It tastes like warm whiskey. 

Osamu is quick to wrap wide, warm hands around his waist. Keiji pushes him back against the wall, the impact jostling the framed maps hanging there. They kiss, open-mouthed and open-eyed. It’s a familiar game, one that Keiji is tired of losing. 

He pulls back, grips the front of Osamu’s shirt. It’s already partially unbuttoned, it always is, and the peek of shining skin always drives Keiji wild. His fingers slip through the buttons quickly- so quickly that he fumbles. “Eager?” Osamu murmurs with a laugh, and Keiji feels the rumble of it against his fingers. 

“You’re the one in my bedroom,” he snaps and slips the shirt down, finally gets his hands on those broad shoulders. They’re burning. 

Osamu’s hands slide up from their brand on Keiji’s waist and push his shirt up, up. Keiji stops him with a touch. “C’mon,” Osamu mumbles. “Let me return the favor, baby.”

“Eager?” Keiji mocks as he takes a step back. He hooks a foot under the desk chair and pulls. “Sit.”

Osamu’s quick to comply, pulling Keiji with him as he sidles into the chair. He sits like an offering on Keiji’s altar. Legs wide, smile idle, palms scorching on Keiji’s back. 

“Don’t touch,” Keiji says and pushes his fiery hands behind the chair. 

“I like this game,” Osamu croons. 

Keiji releases him and returns to his bag. He pulls out a rope. 

Osamu’s breath catches. “I _really_ like this game.”

He lays the rope over Osamu's wrists. 

Wrap the rope around the wrists five times. One, two, three, four, five. Cross the ends underneath. Bring them up and around. Start winding. One, two, three. Twist to tighten. Lift the loop and tuck. 

Keiji steps back and admires his work. He’s tied knots strong enough to lower grown men into ancient graves. He can handle Miya Osamu. 

It’s unflinching as Osamu pulls at it and asks in a breathy, yet aggravatingly cocky voice, “What are you gonna do with me now, _professor_?” 

Keiji slides back into Osamu’s lap. He trails a finger over the searing line of Osamu’s shoulder and presses slow kisses into his cheek. He curls one hand into dark hair and with the other, slips thin fingers into Osamu’s pocket. Pulls out his glasses. 

He slips down from his throne. 

“You don’t know me as well as you think,” Keiji bites, “ _sweetheart."_

He collects his bag from the desk, stuffs Osamu’s shirt inside. 

The sight of Osamu is mesmerizing, chest heaving, cheeks tinged with pink. He’s grinning, and that’s how Keiji knows he’s taken him by surprise. 

“See you around,” Keiji says, and leaves him there, the ruins of a temple to be discovered in the morning. 

_I'll be seeing you_

_In all the old familiar places_

_That this heart of mine embraces_

_All day and through._

\- I’ll Be Seeing You, Billie Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> do akaashi and kuroo leave the twins behind? does akaashi go back for osamu in the morning? does suna actually dig kuroo or was he hired by the twins to try to get the map? up to u baby. whatever u think is sexiest. 
> 
> special thanks to the autostraddle article "bondage 101: how to tie someone up" that i never thought i would ever read. 
> 
> twit user @blurrymoss made some amazing art based on this fic which you can find [here!!](https://twitter.com/blurrymoss/status/1281091983809757185) give luka a follow bc they are super talented and deserve the world <3 
> 
> i can be found on [twit](https://twitter.com/fukurodarcy) here! thank u for reading this was fun! please check out the links below for info, petitions, and donation links.
> 
> [black lives matter](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/)  
> [junk terror bill](https://junkterrorbill.carrd.co/)


End file.
